


Confined

by DiamondBlue4, InhoePublishing



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29431956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondBlue4/pseuds/DiamondBlue4, https://archiveofourown.org/users/InhoePublishing/pseuds/InhoePublishing
Summary: Recovering from an injury that has forced Jim on bed rest, all he wants is some hands-on attention from Bones. And not the medical kind.“His mast cell count and blood histamine levels are elevated. I think he’s having an allergic reaction to the pins, sir.”McCoy stomach tightened as he read the chart.“Goddamn it,” he said under his breath as the data confirmed Riley’s diagnosis.“Do you want to try another material?” Riley asked. “Boneband sutures have had some success in cases like the captain’s.”McCoy shook his head, his mouth tightening into a grim line. With Jim’s allergy-prone profile, introducing another material would be asking for trouble. “We’ll have to put him in traction.”
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy
Comments: 23
Kudos: 64





	Confined

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day.
> 
> This is our Valentine's Day story to all your McKirk shippers out there. Not your usual Valentine's story, but then Jim and Bones aren't your usual romantic couple, either.

McCoy was reviewing inoculation schedules at the main circulation desk in Sickbay, trying to tune out the chatter of his staff and focus on the task at hand. Sickbay was empty of patients at the moment, and idle boredom lent itself to the spontaneous formation of small groups ready to gossip about the latest news of who was seeing whom, and speculations on what next crisis would further delay Enterprise’s upcoming leave, before drifting apart, only to reform with a new set of individuals a few minutes later. All of which McCoy could care less about as long as patients weren’t being neglected. His own thoughts were on his dinner with Jim tonight, anticipation building, since this was the first real chance they’ve had in weeks at succeeding in spending some quality time together where the likelihood of being interrupted was low.

Jim’s duties as captain had kept him out of McCoy’s bed for the last two months. Their desire for intimacy had been reduced to the occasional exchange of a knowing smile, or a sleepy wink over mugs of morning coffee in the mess, or a shoulder slap that lingered a moment longer than necessary. Not that they didn’t try for more. Jim was a highly-sexed individual, and McCoy was no monk. When they did get together is was … intense. Up against the wall, face in the mattress, aches-in-the-morning intense. The kind of sex that left marks no one wanted to explain, but that Jim insisted on leaving untreated.

“I like looking at them,” he’d said to McCoy once with a grin. “Reminds me of how I got them. Besides, the uniform covers up all my sins. Or should I say your sins?”

He had rolled his eyes, but as long as no one except himself saw them, he was okay with it.

Aside from that all-too-brief interlude weeks ago, the few times he’d shown up in Jim’s quarters, or vice versa, they’d only gotten as far as some heated foreplay before something, or someone, had interrupted them.

Both of their positions on the ship required twenty-four availability. Nights off were rare, and uninterrupted nights were even rarer. Shore leave was one of the few times they could truly relax without one ear listening for a comm. Not that they didn’t indulge on the ship. They did. They were just more careful not to start something they didn’t anticipate having the time to finish, which made dry spells inevitable.

But tonight, both of them were scheduled off, Sickbay was empty, the ship wasn’t on its way to pick up some dignitary or prevent a war on a distant planet or deliver any emergency supplies. They were in the middle of nowhere, loping along toward the peaceful territory of Starbase Eight.

A faint rumble shook the ship. He looked up from his monitor and saw that each of the medical personnel had stopped in mid-motion, some in mid-word, expressions ranging from curious to apprehensive. They’d felt it, too, then. Scowling, he waited, but he wasn’t sure for what. The ship felt fine, stable, the deck steady beneath his boots. He held still, listening for another long moment, before shaking his head and returning his attention back to the schedule, when the alert blasted into Sickbay.

_Medical alert! Medical to Engineering. Code Red!_

Damn it!

McCoy grabbed the emergency medical kit from the wall next to the door, and raced out of Sickbay, followed closely by Dr. Riley and two medics. M’Benga, and the nurses had stayed behind to coordinate and prepare to receive the injured just liked they’d practiced. They’d run the drill four times in the past two months – because he had been going out of his goddamn mind with boredom – and everyone knew where to go and what was expected of them.

Goddamn engineers, he thought as he raced down the corridors, they served in the most hazard-prone area of the ship. He didn’t know what to expect, but experience told him to prepare for the worst. It wasn’t unusual to get a call from Engineering. Catwalks, open engines, high-heat equipment, chemicals… it was a playground for injuries waiting to happen, and they frequently did.

A series of red-shirted crew members directed them deeper into the engineering bay than he’d ever been. By the time he sailed into section D of Engineering, a thin veil of smoke was already lifting, pressured out by the environmental control system, allowing a clear look at the damage.

Medical was rarely fully informed about the situation they were about to encounter. There wasn’t time. They had to go in prepared for anything. But, as he came to a brief halt, he could see that there had been an explosion. The charred streaks along the wall behind the bank of nearby equipment told its own story. He quickly adjusted his direction as he took in the whole scene, zeroing in on the hands frantically waving him over to fallen crewmembers.

He recognized Scott’s form, bent over a prone figure, performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Another engineer stood just behind him in obvious shock, white-faced and glassy-eyed, cradling an arm that was obviously broken.

McCoy quickly assessed the situation. Anyone who was standing and breathing wasn’t critical. He hurried forward and immediately dropped to his knees next to Scotty, as Dr. Riley rushed past to aid the other fallen crewman who lay a few feet away, two other engineers already crouched at the man’s side. That crewman was moaning but moving, which meant he was still alive, but the man beneath Scott’s ministrations was limp and motionless.

McCoy deftly opened his kit and pointed his scanner at the motionless figure. The patient’s face was blocked by Scotty’s resuscitation efforts. The scorched command-gold tunic vaguely registered in the back of his mind, but his focus was on the scan results that were claiming his attention: a broken sternum and respiratory arrest.

“Keep breathing for him, Mr. Scott,” he ordered as he quickly retrieved a hypo pre-loaded with tri-ox. One of the medics dropped more equipment next to Scott as he finished blowing a breath into the man’s slack mouth, and lifted his head.

It was the stricken expression on Scotty’s face, along with a growing premonition of dread, that caused McCoy to look down.

Fuck!

Jim’s face was pale and lifeless, oddly unmarked given the extent of his injuries. A rush of emotions tore through McCoy – anger, fear, worry – before he forced them aside. There was no time for him to feel. He pushed his personal feelings for Jim into a deep corner of his mind to deal with later. Medical training kicking in, he slammed the loaded hypo against Jim’s carotid artery, delivering the much-needed oxygen-enhancing compound directly into Jim’s bloodstream. “Get him on an auto-mask, now!”

Scott scooted back, making room for the medical staff as Jim’s body was suddenly surrounded by a flurry of hands, cutting away the ripped uniform, adding tiny stabilizers to his chest, positioning the mask.

McCoy quickly followed the tri-ox with another hypo, this one loaded with a pulmonary stimulant. If it worked, the medication would get Jim breathing on his own again. If it didn’t…

Picking up the scanner, he ran a quick scan, and exhaled in relief. The medication appeared to be working – Jim was now breathing spontaneously. Barely, but he was breathing. The scanner beeped, warning McCoy his patient was in severe respiratory shock.

“Get a line going and hang a unit of Ringers before we move him onto the stretcher for transport.”

One of the medics took Jim’s arm, quickly starting the IV.

“What the hell happened?” McCoy barked to Scott.

There was no blood visible on or beneath Jim’s body, which told McCoy there was no penetrating trauma. Jim’s vitals indicated no massive bleeding or internal blood loss. His injuries seemed to be percussive, a result of the blast force, and it was clear to McCoy that Jim had been thrown across the room.

“The whole damn console blew,” Scott said. “I should have shut it down.”

You should have kept Jim out of Engineering, McCoy wanted to say. But it wasn’t Scott’s fault. Jim liked to get his hands dirty, and no matter how many times McCoy lectured the Captain about keeping his ass on the Bridge, Jim would just smile and tell him he worried too much.

_Worry too much, my ass_ , he thought, as he keyed the tricorder to complete a more comprehensive scan. The results included a skull fracture, a broken sternum, bruised lungs and severe multiple fractures of his right femur.

A new team of medics arrived, pushing stretchers and carrying more equipment. One team stopped by McCoy and the other moved on to assist Riley.

“Get a mobilizer around this leg.” Jim’s femur needed to be stabilized before they moved him. McCoy didn’t want to risk further damage to the surrounding tissue or accidentally severing an artery. The leg could be fixed with surgery and would heal completely with time and therapy. Jim’s head was another matter. He needed a more detailed scan of Jim’s skull and brain to diagnose the full extent of the skull fracture. “I want a cervical collar on him before we move him over to the stretcher.”

“Is he gonna be all right?” Scott asked.

“I’ll let you know,” McCoy responded, his reply mostly automatic. There was only so much he could do for Jim on the floor of Engineering, and while he sympathized with Scott, his main focus was on getting Jim to Sickbay.

The medics secured the mobilizer to Jim’s leg, then carefully encircled his neck with the cervical collar, and smoothly transferred him to the stretcher, their teamwork flawless.

As McCoy stood, he craned his neck to look at Riley. “Dr. Riley, you good?”

Riley raised his head. “I’m good. We’ll be right behind you.”

McCoy nodded and followed Jim’s stretcher out, his mind already planning Jim’s surgery.

* * *

Gamma shift had just started by the time McCoy finally entered his quarters. As the doors slid shut behind him, he allowed his shoulders to sag. Rolling his neck, he winced as the tight muscles stretched painfully along his shoulders. God, he was tired. It had been a hellish twelve hours, and this was the first chance he’d gotten to lower the ‘physician’s’ mask, to allow himself to feel the deep fatigue that had begun to settle in and reflect on everything that had happened, how quickly his plans had changed.

He and Jim wouldn’t be having dinner tonight or enjoying a long evening of slow fucking.

McCoy rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tightness that four hours in the OR had caused. Jim’s femur fractures had taken longer to repair than he’d anticipated, but the broken sternum, at least, was responding well to the regenerators. Overall, Jim’s body had suffered significant trauma and would need time to heal, but his injuries were no longer life-threatening. McCoy was closely monitoring the skull fracture, because Jim and unexpected complications seemed to go hand-in-hand, but Jim was stable enough at the moment for McCoy to leave Sickbay and get some much-needed rest.

McCoy slowly peeled off his clothes, tossing them into the laundry bin. Stripped down, he entered the shower. _Enterprise_ had been in deep space for several months, long overdue for a provisions restock, so water was at a premium. Even with recycling and superior filtration, they had to be careful not to waste water. He’d used the sonic in Sickbay before leaving. Intellectually, he knew the sonic shower was more effective than a water shower, eliminating bacteria along with sweat and blood. But once in his quarters, he felt the need for the real thing, hoping the wet heat would wash away his restlessness. _Enterprise’s_ senior officers had been limited to five minutes of shower-water every three days. McCoy was glad he’d saved his.

The luxury was short-lived. Too soon the alarm sounded and the water shut off.

“Fucking Quartermaster,” he cursed, finding a perverted satisfaction in the echo of his words in the tiny stall. Though the lack of water was hardly her fault. _Enterprise_ had been ordered to one unexpected destination after another, missing out on a much anticipated shore leave and putting them weeks behind their scheduled resupply stop at Starbase Eight.

In truth, the R&R delay hadn’t been unduly stressful, just monotonous and frustrating. The days just seemed to stretch out interminably as they sailed through the quadrant, delivering medical supplies, chauffeuring ambassadors and sometimes just being a presence for Starfleet, which amounted to a lot of standing around and doing nothing. They were all more bored than tired, everyone feeling the pinch of ever-shortening rations in water and the sparsity of food options in the mess hall. And they weren’t getting off the ship anytime soon. _Enterprise_ was currently in the middle of nowhere.

He dried his body slowly, feeling the heaviness of sleep deprivation dragging at his muscles. Naked, he walked into his bedroom in search of clean clothing. Pulling open the top drawer, he hesitated, finally selecting a pair of black, snug-fitting boxer-briefs instead of the standard underwear issued by Starfleet. On their last shore leave, Jim had encouraged him to throw away his tired-looking gray briefs after thrusting a bag filled with form-fitting boxer-briefs into his hands. _These will look much sexier_ , he had said, _and no one will know you’re wearing them. Except me_.

Leonard pulled them on, smiling a little, thinking of the last time that Jim had slowly divested him of a similar pair.

Jim had entered his room late that night. McCoy had been reviewing patient records and Jim had just returned from a long diplomatic session on Ceti III. Jim hadn’t even spoken, just looked at him with hungry eyes, smiled, pulled him out of his chair, and pushed him up against the wall. He had taken possession of his lips with a deep, possessive kiss that had left McCoy gasping. He’d hardly had time to recover, before he felt Jim’s fingers quickly working the zipper of his uniform pants. McCoy had let his fingers slide through Jim’s hair as the younger man dropped smoothly to his knees, pulling the briefs down in a single motion. The next moment, Jim’s warm mouth was around his hardening cock.

It hadn’t been tender, and they hadn’t been able to take their time. It was fast, no frills, down-and-dirty sex, fueled by pent-up sexual frustration. The kind that they’d been forced to have more and more lately, as the time constraints imposed by their duty schedules, superseded the opportunities for more leisurely, romantic liaisons. Tonight was supposed to have been the latter.

With a muffled groan, McCoy slid between the cool sheets, sinking into the soft cushiony depths of the mattress. He was still tense from the long surgery and he made a conscious effort to relax, knowing that – even as tired as he was – sleep wouldn’t come until he let go.

Jim was going to be all right. It could have been worse. Much worse.

He shuddered, slamming his thoughts shut on entertaining any ‘what if’ scenarios. He’d seen too much as a trauma surgeon, and it was too easy for him to go down that path. If he did, he’d never sleep.

“Lights out,” he said.

The cabin was immediately enveloped in darkness. Only the safety lights along the juncture of the bulkhead and the floor remained on, a low, dim glow that made the cabin seem even more isolated and lonely. He closed his eyes and counted his breaths, trying to shake off the stress of the recent emergency, and settle his mind into the rhythm of sleep.

Inhale and hold for one, two, three, four. Exhale, one, two, three, four, five. Inhale, one, two, three, four, five. Hold for one, two…

Someone was calling him. The voice penetrated his dark dreams of blood and disaster, sounding faint and far away. The insistent repetition of his name finally had him opening his eyes. His nearly-dark quarters were quiet, and it took him another moment to reorient.

“Sickbay to Doctor McCoy.”

He blindly jabbed at the comm. “McCoy here.”

“Dr. Riley, sir. You asked to be notified of any changes in Captain Kirk’s condition. He’s spiking a fever. His temp is 38.8.”

He was instantly awake, sitting up in bed before his brain fully registered his body was moving. “On my way.”

Since becoming CMO, he’d developed the necessary skill of dressing quickly. Red alerts and other emergencies on a starship meant you either learned to dress in three seconds or run into the corridor in your skivvies.

He was out the door in seconds – uniform pants on and fastened – but with only the solid black undershirt to cover his torso. Carrying his boots in one hand, he ran to the turbo lift. By the time he rushed through Sickbay’s door, he’d gotten his boots on, but his entire focus was on the scene in front of him.

Riley and two nurses were around Jim’s bed. Not a good sign. The privacy curtain had been pulled back. Another bad sign.

Riley looked up as he entered and closed the distance between them.

“What the hell happened?” McCoy demanded, striding to the opposite side of the bed. The nurses moved aside to give him more room.

“His labs just came back,” Riley said, handing him Jim’s chart. “It’s not an infection.”

McCoy’s relief at the news was short-lived.

Riley continued with the update. “His mast cell count and blood histamine levels are elevated. I think he’s having an allergic reaction to the pins, sir.”

McCoy stomach tightened as he read the chart.

“Goddamn it,” he said under his breath as the data confirmed Riley’s diagnosis. The pins weren’t new technology. The material, a hybrid, organic compound coated in a bone-growth accelerant, had been around for twenty years. They were typically only used in extreme fracture cases, and had a history of producing great results. Once the breaks were aligned, and the pins were placed, the contact with normal bone activated the compounds. The pins were strong enough at the outset to hold the bones in correct anatomical position, and then they broke down after a few weeks, slowly dissolving as the osteo-regenerator helped the fractures to re-calcify, and the new bone growth took over. By the time the pins were completely gone, the breaks in the bones were typically fully healed.

Another instance of Jim’s quirky allergies creating difficulties. Dammit, he was going to have to remove them.

“Get OR 1 ready,” he ordered Riley.

“Do you want to try another material?” Riley asked. “Boneband sutures have had some success in cases like the captain’s.”

McCoy shook his head, his mouth tightening into a grim line. With Jim’s allergy-prone profile, introducing another material would be asking for trouble. “We’ll have to put him in traction.”

The breaks were too severe to risk waiting for them to mend through application of the osteo-regenerator alone. The bones had to be held in perfect alignment while they were allowed to heal naturally, or Jim would be lame for life. Among other dire consequences, it would permanently ground him from serving aboard a starship.

Riley left to prepare the OR and scrub, leaving McCoy momentarily alone with Jim. He looked down at Jim, still unconscious from the heavy dose of painkillers he was receiving. His cheekbones were flushed, and he was breathing in rapid, shallow breaths, his body caught between the fever and his fractured sternum.

Putting a hand to Jim’s hot cheek, he murmured, “I’m sorry, Darlin’.”

Keeping Jim in traction wasn’t going to be easy on either of them. Unfortunately, McCoy had no other choice.

* * *

Jim opened his eyes to a blurry and distorted view – a watery landscape of color and light. A high-pitched drone filled his ears, the thrum of the nacelles, vibrating in response to the humming warp core. He blinked, trying to clear his mind along with his vision. He’d been helping Scotty with a warp core relay that kept overloading. There had been a flash, followed by a brief sensation of flying, a jolt of pain and… nothing.

Had the relay failed? Had the entire main drive board exploded? The fuzzy memories failed to coalesce, fading to nothingness as quickly as they appeared. His head pounded, and it was difficult to draw a full breath. Even the shallow breaths he managed sent painful splinters of glass into his chest, restricting his breathing.

A low groan escaped him as the pain spread outward from his chest.

What had happened? Why was he lying on his back? Was he in Sickbay?

His body felt heavy and achy, the muscles bruised and stretched thin, bones throbbing. Even in his disjointed thoughts, he knew it meant that he was injured, maybe seriously, judging by the level of pain assaulting his body, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around any firm details. A sharp, deep ache in his right thigh was quickly capturing his attention. Why did his leg hurt so much? He blinked again, trying to clear the haziness from his sight, and stretched a hand to his thigh, searching for the cause of his pain.

“Try to remain still, Jim. You’ve been injured.” McCoy’s face floated above him, moving in and out of focus.

Bones? He tried to speak, but the word stuck in his parched throat. His tongue felt thick, his mouth as dry as dust. Licking his lips, he tried again. “Where… am I?”

“You’re in Sickbay.” A warm hand settled gently on his shoulder. “You’ve been hurt, but we’re taking good care of you. You’ll be fine once you’ve healed.”

Sickbay? He’d been in Engineering. “I ‘s… in engi’ing?”

McCoy’s face came into focus suddenly. His hazel eyes were staring at him intently and they held the familiar concerned expression that always seemed to carry an edge of annoyed anger. “Yes. There was an accident in Engineering. You were injured pretty badly.”

Accident? Why couldn’t he remember anything? He drew in a shallow breath, careful not to inhale too deeply, keeping the knives waiting to slice into his lungs at bay, forcing himself to think.

Even when, in the past, he’d fractured a rib or two, it hadn’t felt this painful. Something lay under his nose, irritating the tender skin of his nostrils. Oxygen? It felt like something heavy was sitting on his chest, crushing his ribcage. He dragged his arm up, feeling the warning pinch of the IV inserted in his hand, before his chest exploded in agony.

“Try not to move around, Jim. You fractured your sternum. It’s healing, but you need to lie still. Any movement is going to be painful for a while.”

That was an understatement. The agony slowly faded but the pounding in his head increased with each gasping breath. He closed his eyes, seeking relief from the too-bright lights, and tried to focus. Think. What was Bones telling him?

“Wha’ happ’nd? Why can’t… move?”

“I told you, you fractured your sternum. Moving your arms causes your chest muscles and ribs to flex, and they’re attached to your sternum. Just try to lie still and keep your breathing easy. It’ll be less painful.”

He had little choice but to follow Bones’ advice. He concentrated on taking shallow breaths, hungry for oxygen but wary of rousing the sharp-taloned monster that wanted to feast on his chest. It took him a moment to realize Bones was still talking to him.

“—explosion in Engineering, Jim. Threw you across the room. The blow from your head hitting the bulkhead caused a skull fracture. I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

An explosion? Skull fracture? Was that why his head hurt? Jim searched his hazy memory. He and Scotty had been inspecting the panel controlling the engine coil system. They’d dropped out of warp because one of the power drives was malfunctioning, threatening the stability of the entire warp drive system. One of the engine coil relays kept tripping, reducing their ability to achieve full warp speed. Scotty had been worried that the particular coil in question contained a previously unsuspected manufacturing flaw, and that it was close to breaking under the pressure generated by the warp core… He didn’t remember anything else after that.

He’d gone down to Engineering because he’d seen boredom looming. The morning had been consumed by the never-ending paperwork that came with being in command: signing requisitions, reading the latest batch of Starfleet intel bulletins that Uhura had decoded and forwarded to his attention, and reviewing the daily departmental reports.

He’d just finished reading the last report when Scotty had commed the bridge to request they drop out of warp for critical repairs. Faced with staring at an unchanging viewscreen for the next several hours and restless with anticipation for his dinner with Bones, Jim had opted instead to lend Scotty a hand with the repairs. It seemed like a good way to pass the time until he and Bones were alone in his quarters.

He’d fucked up.

He tried to focus on Bones, whose face had gone blurry again as he loomed over him like a specter. “Missed… dinner?” His words were barely a whisper.

“Yeah, kid.” A cool hand touched Jim’s face. “Gonna have to take a rain check on that, and other things, for a while.”

Beads of sweat blossomed on his forehead as a sudden flash of pain swept through him. He tried to stay anchored to Bones’ voice. What had Bones been saying?

“Scotty… okay?” He shivered with a sudden chill. Every muscle ached, but his leg… Christ, his leg was on fire.

McCoy nodded and reached above him. “Mr. Scott’s fine. He was on the other side of the bay, getting a piece of equipment, so he was well away from the blast.”

“Others?” It was so difficult to think, and his head was killing him. He nestled his cheek deeper into Bones’ palm, seeking a respite from the pain.

A hot flush suddenly traveled up his arm.

“Some minor injuries. A few broken bones. Nothing that treatment and a day or two rest won’t fix. Don’t worry about that now.” His vision abruptly cleared and he realized that McCoy’s hazel gaze, more green than gold today, was focused intently on him. “You’ve been in surgery for hours, Jim. You need to rest.”

Fuck, his leg was radiating a fiery agony that reached into his groin and hip. With a shaky hand, he reached down, desperate to find a way to ease the pain. McCoy caught his hand and returned it to his side.

“You broke your femur. In three places. Your leg is in traction right now.” McCoy’s thumb traced his bottom lip. “Rest. Let the medication do its job.”

He supposed he should be worried about his leg, but Bones’ words sounded dim and far away. A heavy, warm lethargy began to spread throughout his body, dragging him into darkness.

* * *

Jim sighed and dropped his head back, hitting the bulkhead behind his bed with a jarring thump. He winced as his head made contact with the hard surface a little more forcefully than he’d intended.

He’d spent the first few days of consciousness in Sickbay watching the room spin dizzily around him and trying to keep from throwing up from the migraine headaches the skull fracture had caused. What he had really wanted to do was burrow under some thick blankets, curl on his side, and sleep the pain away. But his broken leg had made all of that impossible, and he’d had to settle for Bones pulling the privacy curtain and dimming the lights.

Fucking leg.

He’d been confined to his quarters and bed for the past eight days and he was about to go batshit crazy from boredom. His quarters were only marginally more appealing than being stuck in Sickbay where he felt like an exotic animal on display. The constant monitoring and anxious questions from the medical staff had quickly become tedious. Any movement or signal that he was in discomfort, or in need of anything, had resulted in immediate attention. _What can I get you, Captain? Are you in pain, Captain? Are you cold, sir?_ It was one thing to be injured, but it was another thing altogether to be injured and confined to Sickbay on his own ship where – patient or not – he was still the captain. After obsessively hounding Bones, the doctor had finally agreed to allow him to return to his quarters to recuperate.

_“You’re going to have to remain in bed,” McCoy said, standing at the foot of his bio bed, arms crossed over his chest, and scowling heavily. “I mean it, Jim. You’re in traction for a reason. Your bones have to remain undisturbed while they heal, or you’ll risk a non-union and permanent disability. If I agree, you’ll follow_ all _my medical directions and that of my staff. Clear?”_

_“I’ll be the model patient, Bones.”_

_McCoy narrowed his eyes. “Limited visitors. No staff meetings or debriefings. No trying to get out of bed. Even if, god forbid, there’s a Red Alert.”_

_“I’ll sleep all day. Promise.”_

Except he couldn’t sleep all day and the hours he was spending alone in his quarters were beginning to wear on him, even as nice as his new quarters were.

Because it was the flagship, his quarters on the newly refitted _Enterprise_ were larger than that of other Constellation Class starships. Keeping in mind the inevitable long mission assignments, the engineers had designed the room for comfort and function, but the layout was less than appealing. Basically, the space was a furnished rectangular box.

The entry was in the main area, and had a clear line of sight directly to the bed that was positioned at the far end of the room. Anyone entering his quarters stepped immediately into the sitting area, complete with full length sofa and chairs on the left, and Jim’s small office, tucked against the wall to the right. He had to walk the full length of the cabin to get to the sleeping area and the bathroom.

The calming blues and warm misty grays of the color scheme were designed to lower blood-pressure, slow thoughts, and provide a sense of calm, so that a captain could fully relax while in the privacy of his quarters. Even the windows placed in the bulkhead on either side of his bed were meant to add a sense of peace and space. But tonight, they did neither of those things, since his current position – on his back in bed – precluded being able to easily look out the windows.

Normally, no one other than himself, and Bones, made it past the small sitting area. But the only guests he’d had lately were medical personnel. They knew his bedroom now as well as he did, dropping by at frequent intervals to check the traction settings, in addition to providing whatever physical care he needed. Truth was, he’d never spent much time in his quarters. Until this damn accident.

He’d hoped when Bones had released him from Sickbay that it had been a signal of things to come, that Bones had been avoiding any intimacy because of the lack of privacy Sickbay offered. But even alone and away from prying eyes, Bones had kept his touch purely medical.

Jim put a hand to his chest, rubbing lightly to soothe the constant, faint ache that remained from his broken sternum. He was convinced his stationary condition was making the ache worse and had said as much to Bones one night, suggesting that other, more carnal, activities would stimulate his circulation. Bones’ response had been to increase his respiratory therapy to twice a day. The bastard.

He closed his eyes, keeping his hand pressed lightly to his chest, courting sleep. Long minutes crept by, each one feeling like a year. At the end of twenty excruciating minutes, he was farther from falling asleep than he’d been when he’d first closed his eyes. 

With another frustrated sigh, he opened his eyes and looked around for a distraction. His yeoman – one of the few non-medical people Bones allowed in his cabin – had left two hours ago, taking his half-eaten tray of food with her, and leaving a PADD with the daily reports for him to review. But the reports, while giving him a glimpse into his ship’s activities, only made him feel more isolated and irritable.

Not that there was anything all that interesting currently happening onboard the ship. With the repairs to Engineering completed, they were cruising along smoothly in the black without another ship or soul within hailing distance. Starbase Eight, the closest Starfleet outpost, was still nearly a week away at their present speed. He should talk to Spock about running some simulations to keep the crew sharp, because a bored crew tended to become careless, resulting in a potentially dangerous inattention to duty.

Dropping his hand from his chest, Jim shifted uncomfortably, hampered by the intricately balanced immobilization field that surrounded his right leg from just below his knee to his hip.

The hum of the field filled the cabin, the sound grating on his nerves. It never let up, buzzing like a swarm of bees that had settled nearby. The sound even permeated his dreams. But if the soft humming set his nerves on edge, it was nothing compared to the constant pressure the field put on his leg.

The traction field was a distant cousin to the shields protecting the _Enterprise_ , making it impossible to actually touch his leg, and robbing him of any comfort touch would have provided. The growing dull and steady ache, bone-deep and intense, told him it was time for another dose of pain medication.

Small dots of perspiration gathered high on his forehead. He wiped them away, grimly determined to wait until someone arrived with the medication, rather than calling for a dose of pain medication himself. The crew expected, and deserved, a strong, capable captain. He couldn’t have the Sickbay staff gossiping about his inability to remain stoic under adverse conditions.

Dressed only in a loose pair of shorts and a short-sleeved t-shirt, he lay on top of the bed covers, listening to the taunting buzz, and counting the seconds off in his head.

Enough.

Letting out an exasperated breath, he picked up his PADD again, and tried to distract himself from the pain by reviewing the last of the departmental reports. He was well into the daily bridge logs when the door to his cabin finally slid open.

“No more work, Jim,” McCoy said. He was barely inside the cabin when he spoke, his medical case hanging loosely from his fingers.

Jim looked up from Spock’s dry and detailed report about nothing. Bones was a far more interesting subject, and he watched appreciatively as McCoy slowly walked toward him. Bones looked good despite it being the end of the day, and Jim couldn’t help but appreciate the easy gait, the swing of Bones’ hips and the way the muscles in his shoulders bunched under his blue tunic as he set the case down.

“Consider your shift over. And consider yourself lucky I didn’t stop in the sitting room to have a drink first, instead of coming in here to check on you.” McCoy plucked the PADD from his fingers and tossed it out of his reach, before leaning down to lightly kiss him.

Jim leaned into the kiss, reaching out with an eager hand to clasp the back of Bones’ neck and pull him closer, deepening the contact. He liked the feel of Bones’ mouth – warm and clean and wet – on his own. Jim nipped enticingly at Bones’ lower lip, silently pleading for him to continue. But Bones lifted his mouth away, keeping the kiss short and almost chaste, despite his best efforts. As Bones pulled away, Jim made an involuntary sound of protest.

“How do you feel?” McCoy asked, laying a hand on the side of his face.

“If you have to ask, we’re doing it wrong.”

McCoy held his gaze for a long moment, then leaned in for another quick kiss before pulling away and turning to open his medical case.

So much for foreplay, Jim thought sourly. He hadn’t been able to get Bones interested in anything other than being his doctor in days, and he was trying hard not to take it personally, but they finally had all this privacy and it was going to waste…

“What’s new on the ship’s gossip band, Bones? Rand tells me nothing.”

“You read the daily reports,” McCoy said as he opened his medical case and fished out a small scanner. “You know as much as I do.”

“That’s bullshit,” Jim said calmly. Maybe if he let McCoy do his doctor thing without complaining, they could get back to more interesting pursuits. “Nothing personal goes into the official reports. You’re medical. You know where all the bodies are buried. So to speak.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” McCoy refuted.

“Come on, Bones. Tell me about your day. I want to know what you’ve been up to while I’ve been in bed.”

“I’m more interested in what you’ve been up to.” McCoy flipped on his scanner and slowly passed it over him, lingering on his leg.

“Nothing,” Jim said, his voice scathing. “I can’t even get up and take a piss. What the hell do you think I’ve been up to, besides warming this bed?” He studied Bones, his dark head bowed in deep study of the scanner results, and he frowned. “What’s Rand been telling you?”

“That bored captains make bad patients.” McCoy looked up from the scanner with a scowl. “Your blood-pressure is up. Are you in pain?”

“I’m fine.” He shifted again, trying to find a more comfortable position that would ease the throbbing in his leg.

“Uh huh,” McCoy said skeptically. He set the scanner down and retrieved a hypo.

Jim heard McCoy snap the carpule in with a harsh click, and turned his head to the side in silent permission. He closed his eyes, feeling the cold bite of the hypo against his neck. A wave of dizziness swept through him as the medication flooded his bloodstream. A moment later, a cool hand cupped his forehead.

“Your fever’s up a little,” McCoy said, his eyes worried.

Jim knew he’d had a steady fever, wavering between 37.5 and 39.2, since he’d woken up in Sickbay days ago. No infection, Bones had assured him, just his body reacting to the trauma, two trips to the OR, and an allergic reaction. The fever made him achy and lethargic, but he hardly noticed with the constant pain in his leg claiming most of his attention.

Jim heard the metallic click of another hypo being loaded. This time the hypo was triggered against his bicep.

McCoy rubbed his fingers over the injection site. “That’s for the fever.”

“Mm.” He kept his burning eyes closed, listening to Bones move around the room.

As if he didn’t know the drill by now. It was the same routine every day. Soon the medications would kick in, his leg would calm down, Bones would undress and shower, they’d eat, Bones would catch up on his own reports while Jim tried not to bother him, and they would fall asleep – Bones stretched out on the sofa, softly snoring, Jim in his bed. Alone.

He opened his eyes as Bones gently pulled him forward by his shoulders and fluffed the wall of pillows behind him. He inhaled Bones’ scent eagerly, pressing first his nose, then his lips, to Bones’ warm neck. Bones had a distinctive scent – clean with a hint of sandalwood. Tonight, there was a faint undertone of antiseptic.

“Jim.” Bones tone was low and patient, a warning. He resettled Jim against the pillows and straightened.

It was all very… clinical. There was a time when they’d barely slept in Jim’s bed, when the moans coming from Jim were not of pain, but of ecstasy and wanton pleasure.

“What?” Jim asked impatiently. “Can’t I kiss your neck? Or is that off limits now, too?”

McCoy looked down at him. “You need to be careful, Jim. You can’t risk jostling your leg. It’s imperative you keep it completely still while it’s healing. There’s a reason they call it immobilization.”

“I can kiss you without moving my leg.” He pushed a hand through his hair, lifting the damp strands, and turned away from McCoy’s penetrating gaze. Frustrated and irritated, he asked, “How much longer do I have to have this thing on?”

“Jim, you shattered your femur in three places. Since we had to remove the osteo pins, this field is the only thing holding your damn leg together. Your breaks have to recalcify for another four days, and then we can start regeneration therapy with limited mobilization. After that, you’ll need extensive PT.”

He’d heard it all before. A dozen times, at least.

“What _can_ I do?”

“Exactly what you’re doing now. _Nothing_.” McCoy moved back to his medical case.

Jim took a deep breath without thinking, and the ligaments in his chest popped painfully. He ground his teeth to keep from moaning and rubbed the ache that was spreading across his torso. Whatever Bones had given him for pain had taken care of the headache and dulled the deep throbbing in his leg, but the pain in his chest seemed to come in unpredictable, sharp waves. Jim bit his lip in frustration and watched Bones reload the hypos, feeling the first stirring of arousal as he watched Bones deftly manipulate the metal cylinders.

And wasn’t that just a bit sad. And pathetic.

“I need a distraction, Bones. I’m going stir crazy.”

McCoy turned to look at him, his hand holding a loaded hyposyringe. “Reading reports is the best I can offer, I’m afraid. I shouldn’t have even agreed to that. I know you’re still having headaches. Eyestrain will slow your recovery from the skull fracture migraines.”

“I mean something physical.” He gave Bones a warm, sleepy-eyed smile, as he locked gazes with his friend. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew what effect that look had on Bones. It had gotten him into Jim’s bed more than once.

Bones swallowed hard, as if something were lodged in his throat. Scowling fiercely, he turned away and resumed his tasks. “I can increase your respiratory therapy, again. Or have PT give you an upper body massage.”

Jim was barely listening, mesmerized by the way Bones’ shoulder muscles moved beneath the fabric of his tunic. His fingers itched to touch and stroke the smooth, hidden skin. He felt his heartrate increase as memories broke free. The press of his fingers digging into those firm, broad shoulders and the feel of Bones’ weight settling between his legs…

“Jim!”

“What?” Snapping out of his reverie, he refocused his gaze on McCoy. His friend was staring at him with concern. He swallowed painfully. His mouth had gone dry.

“I’ve been calling your name.” McCoy scowled. “You all right, Jim? You look flushed.”

He let his longing and desire show in his expression, a faint, playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and a slight uplift of his eyebrows that said, ‘come play’.

“No,” McCoy said abruptly, and stepped away from his medical case and the bed as if both were going to bite him.

“Bones—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Your mouth says no, but your dick says it’s happy to see me.” He pointedly looked at the bulge in the front of Bones’ pants.

McCoy’s mouth tightened, and he closed his eyes, as he breathed through his nose – long, steadying breaths, that heightened the tension in the room, rather than easing it. A tense minute passed, then McCoy began to swear under his breath, his hands curled into fists.

“Come on, Bones. I know you want to. It’s been months.” Jim shifted on the bed, feeling the pressure of the immobilizer grind into his groin. “I want to feel your mouth on me, then feel how you stiffen right before you come in mine.”

“Christ.” McCoy pushed a hand through his hair. A flush tinted his cheeks.

“So, that’s a yes?”

“No, Jim, sex is out of the question, no matter how much we both want it. How in the hell do you think you’re going to have sex with your leg in traction?”

“I’m very creative when motivated.” He smiled. “I’ll make you feel really good, Bones.”

McCoy’s shoulders were rigid as Jim watched the emotions play across his friend’s face. Desire, concern, frustration and reason all battled for control. But it was Bones’ eyes that were the real tell. His friend’s eyes had grown dark and heavy-lidded. Jim knew Bones wanted him as much as he wanted Bones. It had been too long, and his body was eagerly responding to the sight of Bones in his bedroom.

Feeling the growing rise of his cock, Jim gave himself a quick stroke, not taking his eyes from Bones. “How about you make me feel good?” he suggested as he bent his good leg, giving himself more room to use his hand, though he’d stopped his easy strokes. “If you blow me, I promise I’ll keep still.”

McCoy’s eyes narrowed, and he looked skeptical. “You’ll keep still? While my mouth is on your cock?”

“Nobody gets hurt. It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

“Jim, the last time we had sex I pulled a muscle in my back.”

“You’re the one who insisted on changing positions in mid-game. C’mon, Bones, I’ll gladly return the favor. Hell, I’ll do you first.”

McCoy’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “It’s not going to happen and I’m going to sedate you if you keep that up,” he said, looking pointedly at Jim’s hand on his erection.

With a frustrated growl, Jim let his hand drop away.

Threats of medication from the man whose mouth he wanted on him deflated his erection. It was one of those blurry lines he tried not to cross, or think too hard about. While he easily got aroused at the thought of Bones’ hands on him, talk of _Doctor_ McCoy ministering to his medical needs pretty much took care of any budding fantasies for the night.

* * *

Jim woke with a strangled cry, jolting up in bed, desperate to escape…

The reality of his surroundings barely registered as he blinked the sweat from his eyes. His heart was banging away in his chest and he tried to shake off the cloying remnants of the horror his mind had conjured.

“It’s all right,” McCoy said soothingly, his voice unexpectedly close. The rich tones of his southern drawl penetrated the thick fog of Jim’s nightmare, like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds.

The rush of blood in Jim’s ears slowed slightly, and he took a gasping, choking breath, fighting for control. It took him a moment longer to feel McCoy’s reassuring grip on his arm and smell the faint scent of McCoy’s body wash.

“Take a few breaths,” McCoy said, his voice low and calm. “You’re safe, Jim. It was just a nightmare.”

_Just a nightmare_ , Jim thought bitterly _._ He raked a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, feeling the tremors gradually subside. He hated it when his past came back to haunt him in his sleep. His dreams always felt so terrifyingly real.

Slowly, he came back to full wakefulness in the dimly lit room.

He shivered. The room’s temperature cycled lower at night, and he felt chilled in his damp shirt and shorts. Exhaustion weighed him down, and he was acutely aware of the sharp pounding in his head and the deep, throbbing pain in his leg.

“Okay?” McCoy asked, leaning closer.

Jim grunted, dropping his hand from his head, reaching down to soothe the ache in his leg. It had been two days since Bones had removed the traction field. His first session of regeneration had wiped him out, and he’d slept the entire day, barely moving. Yesterday had been the first day he’d enjoyed being confined to his bed. Without the constant humming and pressure of the immobilization field, he’d gotten some decent rest. He’d even been able to roll onto his side.

“Leg hurt?” McCoy asked and moved the blanket aside to gently touch his bare leg. Skilled fingers expertly probed the tender muscles over the break sites.

“S’okay,” Jim mumbled. His head hurt, and he felt the muscles in his leg tremble and twitch.

“Your muscles are tight,” McCoy said, massaging Jim’s thigh. “You probably aggravated them with all your thrashing.”

_Thrashing?_

“Hang on a minute.” McCoy straightened and walked back to the living area. He returned a moment later with his medical scanner and quickly ran it over Jim. Nodding as he studied the readings, he said, “Good. No displacement to the bones. Just some lingering muscle strain. That’s to be expected at this point in your recovery.”

Setting the scanner aside, he sat down on the edge of the bed and resumed his massage of Jim’s thigh muscles. “The osteo-regenerator is targeted solely on your bones, so your muscles, which have been traumatized by the break and traction, don’t get any benefit from it. They’ll loosen up and regain their strength in a few days with PT.”

Jim’s heart finally slowed to its normal rhythm, his hearing unimpeded by the pounding of his pulse. The room was quiet and hushed. He had gotten so used to the ban on visitors, it almost felt like he and Bones were alone on the ship.

He drew a shaky breath, watching McCoy’s hands as they worked the tightness out of his quad. The original incision was still visible, a pale thin scar that ran the length of his thigh. The traction field had prevented Bones from using the dermal regenerator to repair the scar, leaving him with a stark reminder of his broken leg. Bones had assured him that once proper treatment began, the scar would resolve in a few weeks’ time.

McCoy glanced up at Jim, continuing his ministrations. Jim knew Bones wouldn’t ask about the nightmare. He never did.

Jim didn’t even remember it, which was how it happened sometimes. He’d wake shaking and drenched in sweat, his body caught up in the ‘fight or flight’ response the dream had set in motion. The details weren’t important; he could have been reliving one of any number of horrible experiences. He didn’t even know what had triggered a nightmare this time, and he didn’t want to try and figure it out, either. It was better not knowing.

McCoy pulled away and gave him a speculative look. “You good now?”

“Yeah.” But even to his own ears, his voice sounded weak and thin, lacking his usual confidence. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

McCoy didn’t move for a long moment, then finally nodded. “You want something for your headache?”

McCoy wouldn’t offer something to help him back to sleep. The doctor knew better than to go down that road, keenly aware of Jim’s troubled sleep history, and wary of creating a dependency on meds. McCoy had recommended therapy but Jim knew that suggestion was a joke. He’d be more likely to give the therapist nightmares than find any peace talking about his past.

He sighed, resigned to enduring the aftermath. He was always like this after a nightmare – raw and uncertain – and way too fucking needy for his peace of mind. As a kid, he’d never received any comfort after waking from one. He’d had to manage on his own, huddled under his blankets, and staring into the darkness, trying not to think too hard until the morning sun ate the shadows, and he could get up and walk away, leaving it all behind.

As an adult, he’d found other methods to deal with the aftermath of his nightmares.

“Jim?” McCoy was scowling, studying him with concern.

He averted his gaze, hiding his vulnerability from Bones and noticed, for the first time, that Bones was wearing only boxer-briefs and a black tee.

He loved the tight boxers because they emphasized Bones’ form – the narrow hips and well-formed ass and the large bulge nestled in front, assets normally concealed by McCoy’s uniform, now invitingly displayed, and practically begging for his touch.

He knew too well what lay beneath the fabric – how Bones’ body felt and tasted. Reaching out, he rested a hand on the warm, firm, flesh of Bones’ thigh. He couldn’t stop himself from caressing the smooth skin with his thumb, moving it back and forth over the fine hairs, mesmerized by the sensation, feeding a need that had gone unfilled for so long.

“Jim.” Bones’ voice was thick, the Georgia accent more pronounced. He was no longer McCoy the physician, his tone revealing he had morphed into someone more personal, more intimate, than his CMO.

Jim looked up. Bones was breathing through his nose, as if to control his reaction to Jim’s touch. His mouth was tight, but not in anger.

Jim splayed his fingers, inching them toward the form-fitting boxers, while leaning closer. His lips made gentle contact with Bones’ mouth. It was a soft kiss, meant to entice, to implore, but it quickly turned more urgent as he tipped his head and deepened the contact, his tongue seeking the wet depths within.

This, this, was real, life and desire made hotly tangible, burning away the last vestiges of the nightmare.

He wanted more.

Keeping his right hand possessively on Bones’ thigh, he reached up with his other to encircle the back of the Bones’ neck, holding him captive beneath his lips. His heart leapt as Bones responded in kind, tipping his head accommodatingly to the perfect angle, and sending his tongue to lap at the roof of Jim’s mouth, leaving shivering tingles in its wake.

Jim moaned. Bones shifted closer, spreading his legs, and sending his hands questing beneath Jim’s shirt. The strong fingers stroked the length of his spine and Jim could feel his cock stir as his body immediately responded to the feel of Bones’ hands on his skin. It had been too long, and he was too raw, his nerves still singing from the nightmare, glorying in the soothing touch.

Comfort. Need. Desire.

He inhaled, breath stuttering, as Bones’ fingers teased a sensitive spot.

Bones smelled so goddamn good.

He tried to scoot closer, using his good leg as leverage, nipping at Bones’ bottom lip. He tugged at the hem of Bones’ tee, lifting it up as he slipped his hands beneath the fabric, and trailed hungry fingers up the well-muscled torso and chest.

Bones broke the kiss, breathing rapidly. His eyes were deeply green, the pupils distended with arousal.

“Take your shirt off, Bones, so I can touch you.”

Bones hesitated, but complied, pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it toward the foot of the bed.

“We have to be careful.” Bones’ voice was rough, his drawl even thicker, his words both a warning and a permission to continue.

Jim nodded absently, brushing his thumb gently across Bones’ peaked nipple, satisfaction heating his blood at Bones’ sharp inhale. He pressed his mouth to the side of Bones’ neck, to the hollow behind his ear, and laved the warm flesh with his tongue, inhaling deeply, the scent of Bones’ warm skin enticing. There was something about the way Bones smelled that dissolved rational thought, and sent blood rushing to his cock. He moved his mouth down the length of Bones’ neck to settle on the spot where Bones’ neck and shoulder met. There he stopped and sucked hard.

“Fuck,” Bones groaned. His hands suddenly tugged painfully at Jim’s hair, breaking the escalating tide of desire, another warning and a reminder.

Jim lifted his head and stared at Bones. “I want you.”

“I noticed.” He pulled back, putting some space between them but keeping his hands on Jim’s shoulders. “I mean it, Jim. We have to be careful. Your leg isn’t completely stable, yet.”

Jim didn’t want to be careful. It had been too long, and he wanted to feel the full weight of Bones and fuck like they used to – hard and fast. But he knew Bones wouldn’t go for that, wouldn’t risk Jim reinjuring his leg. He didn’t always want romance and tenderness in their sexual encounters, especially when it had been a while, like now, and he wasn’t as fragile as Bones thought.

Jim slid his hand slowly along Bones’ leg, caressing the skin as he went. In a simple move, a move that felt both daring and inevitable, he surrounded Bones’ cock with his fingers, giving the growing erection a gentle squeeze, before beginning a rhythmic flexing of his fingers, kneading the bulging flesh like a cat. 

Bones inhaled sharply, and cursed under his breath. 

Jim felt Bones’ grip tighten on his shoulders. “I can be careful,” Jim promised, exulting in Bones’ reactions.

The muscles in Bones’ jaw twitched. Abandoning his grip, he pulled Jim’s hand away from his cock and pinned it to the mattress before he leaned in and kissed Jim hard. Bones broke the kiss, leaving Jim gasping for air, then proceeded to deftly strip Jim out of his damp shirt. 

“Lie back,” Bones commanded softly, stroking Jim’s naked chest.

Jim lowered himself down to the mattress while Bones drew the blankets down, exposing more of Jim’s body. Jim’s erection pressed achingly hard against the confines of his briefs and he moved his hand to give himself a relieving stroke, but Bones caught his hand.

“No.” Bones said, hoarsely, placing Jim’s hand on the top of the headboard. “No touching. That’s my domain tonight.”

Bones was a dominate bastard in bed, and Jim usually loved it. He made decisions all day, was the one everyone looked to for all the answers, took care of every living soul on the ship. Normally, in bed, like this, he didn’t want to be the one in charge. Bones had discovered that predilection early on in their relationship and had been happy to oblige Jim’s preferences.

But now, tonight, Jim wanted the control, hungered to be the one to touch and command. He’d been lying in this bed for days, treated like something fragile and easily breakable. He had barely been touched the entire time, and when he had been, the contact had been fleeting, clinical and careful.

He hesitated, torn between obeying and demanding what he really wanted. He searched Bones’ eyes, wondering how far he could push tonight and still get what he yearned for with every fiber of his being.

Picking up on Jim’s hesitation, Bones abruptly pulled back, leaving too much space between them. Bones’ warmth vanished, and cool air whispered over him, raising shivers.

“I’m not fucking made of glass, Bones.”

Bones didn’t move, didn’t say a word. He wore a grim, non-compromising look, and Jim knew that Bones was deadly serious about the need to be careful. Serious enough to end what they had started if Jim didn’t comply with his rules of engagement. With a frustrated growl, Jim lifted his other hand above his head and gripped the headboard.

Bones seemed satisfied and rewarded Jim by leaning over and kissing his neck. Bones ran his tongue over Jim’s sensitive skin before sucking gently. As if Bones’ mouth wasn’t distracting enough, his hands were driving Jim crazy, moving along his ribs to the flat of his belly. Jim’s muscles tightened with anticipation, but Bones’ hands travelled back up, avoiding Jim’s cock. Bones did this several times, mouth and hands everywhere but where Jim ached to feel them.

“Bones,” Jim moaned, instinctively arching his hips up in a desperate need for pressure.

“Hush,” Bones drawled. Then, as if to reinforce his orders, he covered Jim’s mouth with his own and kissed him hard.

So hard, that Jim missed Bones’ hands travelling down his belly. By the time Bones broke the kiss, Jim’s lips were swollen, and he felt breathless and a little lightheaded. He gripped the headboard, gasping.

Something hot and wet stroked his inner thigh and it took him a moment to realize Bones had removed his briefs and was sucking and licking at the sensitive skin on the inside of his thigh on his uninjured leg. The rough scrape of Bones’ stubble sent a jolt straight to his cock.

“Fuck,” he said breathlessly, bending his injured leg to make more room for Bones’ mouth. He felt the painful stretch of the tight muscles in his quad, but he ignored the discomfort, wanting more.

Without lifting his head, Bones quickly settled a hand just above his knee and firmly pressed his leg to lie flat. Jim closed his eyes, as Bones’ hand held him in place, all the while continuing to torment him with his tongue, adding to his arousal.

“Come on, Bones.” His fingers tightened their grip on the headboard and all the muscles in his abdomen convulsed to keep his hips from jerking forward. It had been too long, and he was painfully hard, desperate for release.

Bones’ mouth moved upward – but not to his hard, wet cock. Instead, he began to lavish attention on the hollow of tender, silky skin near his hip, making his toes curl. Bones’ rough stubble scraped the side of his cock, and Jim gasped at the contact.

“Like that, do ya?” Bones asked, his voice like chocolate, rich and smooth.

"Yes,” Jim moaned, pleasure flooding his senses. “More, Bones, please. I need more.”

Jim’s heart was racing now, and his breath was coming in shorter pants, and fuck, he wanted Bones to touch him. He pressed his head back into the pillows, fighting the desperate need to grip his cock and stroke himself to completion, his body a taut bow. Bones’ lifted his head and Jim wanted to cry out, beg him to come back, to continue his torment. He had only a brief moment to find his breath, before Bones’ warm mouth engulfed his cock, causing his body to shudder at the exquisite sensation.

Jim was dimly aware that Bones had tightened his hold on Jim’s injured leg but all he really felt was the warm fingers wrapped around the base of his cock and the hot, wet suction Bones was applying to the head of his cock. He moaned as the pleasure built, and moaned again, as Bones began sliding strong, sure fingers up and down the length of his hard shaft, amplifying the rhythm Bones was setting with his mouth.

The hot, sweet ecstasy climbed beyond his control and his hips bucked forward, earning him a growl of warning from Bones. Bones immediately removed his hand from Jim’s cock to his hip, holding him down now with two hands while his mouth sucked hard at the tip of his cock before sliding down the shaft, creating a steady, nerve-tightening wash of sensation. Jim’s breathing escalated as he felt his balls tighten.

“Bones. Bones, I’m going to come,” he gasped, trying to warn Bones.

But Bones only sucked harder and faster in response. Seconds later, he stiffened, and with a half-strangled cry, he shuddered as he climaxed, Bones’ mouth still on him.

He released his white-knuckled hold on the headboard, letting his arms go limp next to his head as he slowly came back to himself. His heart rate and breathing had begun to slow when he finally managed to open his eyes to find Bones staring down at him.

“You all right?” Bones asked, a scowl on his flushed face.

“More than all right.” His words were slightly slurred and he basked in the boneless exhaustion of the post-orgasm release.

“’Cause you’re not moving.”

“You told me not to move.” He managed a small smile at the sight of Bones’ beautifully swollen mouth. “You know I always follow doctor’s orders.”

Bones snorted. “That’ll be the day pigs fly.”

Jim blinked slowly, struggling to keep his eyes open. He shivered as the cool air brushed across his naked body, still damp with sweat.

Jim watched, silent, as Bones reached for the covers which had been pushed to the foot of the bed and pulled them up and over Jim. Jim reached out a hand.

“Come to bed,” he implored huskily. “If we can have sex, we can sleep in the same bed.”

Bones pursed his lips and stared down at him for a long moment.

“I might bump your leg.”

“Not likely. My good one will be closer to you.” Jim yawned. “C’mon, Bones. I’ve missed sleeping with you.”

Bones sighed, and moved to the far side of the bed. “Gotta say, this mattress is gonna be a whole lot more comfortable than your couch.”

Jim noticed Bones’ erection straining against his tight briefs as slipped beneath the covers. Jim reached across his chest with his right arm, fumbling for waistband of Bones’ briefs beneath the covers, but Bones’ caught his wrist, arresting the movement of his hand.

“Let me take care of that for you.” Jim swallowed a yawn. “It would be my pleasure. Literally and figuratively,” he added, with a small, sleepy grin.

“You need to rest,” Bones said roughly.

Fuck that, Jim thought, the rejection stinging. The delicious languor left behind after his orgasm vanished, and he raised himself up onto his right elbow, twisting slightly toward Bones. The motion pulled at his leg and he winced at the warning flare of pain, now suddenly aware of the deep throbbing that had settled into his thigh.

Bones’ scowl deepened. “Are you hurting? Is it your leg? How serious is the pain, Jim? Never mind, I’ll get the scanner.” He threw back the covers, grumbling. “I knew sex was a bad idea but I let those big blue eyes of yours convince me otherwise.”

“Don’t you dare scan me,” Jim said, flopping back onto the pillows, grimacing as his leg protested.

Bones gazed at Jim, studying him for a long moment, his gaze clinical and detached. Jim could practically see the doctor’s wheels turning – diagnosing, assessing, drawing conclusions. The passionate lover of a few minutes had been consumed by the vigilant physician.

“You want something for your leg?” Bones finally asked.

“It’ll settle down,” he said, moodily.

Bones mouth tightened, then, without saying a word, he slipped back beneath the covers.

Jim expected Bones to put as much space as possible between the two of them, so he was surprised to feel Bones moving closer. He threw an arm over Jim’s middle as he settled in next to Jim, his body a familiar warmth along Jim’s side and leg. Jim could feel Bones’ sizable erection pressing against his hip.

“You sure you don’t want some help with that?” Jim asked, more than willing to begin a second round despite knowing he probably didn’t have the energy or freedom of movement to follow through like he wanted.

“Go to sleep,” Bones said, ignoring his offer. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

“It seems like something has more than sleep in mind, to me.”

“It’ll settle down,” Bones said, drily.

Jim laughed. “Touché, Bones.” He laughed again, suddenly feeling much more like his old self. “But I bet it would settle down faster, if I give you a hand.”

Silence. Then Bones said, “One hand, and I do all the moving. And no more than five minutes, because you’re exhausted, whether you want to admit it or not. If you can’t finish me off in five minutes, we stop, and give it up as a lost cause for tonight.”

“Deal,” Jim said promptly, grinning. ‘You know how I love a dare.”

And flexing his fingers, waited for Bones to come to him. Five minutes? He’d get him there in three.


End file.
